My Sister Made Me Eat in the Garage at Her Wedding Because ‘There Wasn’t Enough Space for Everyone Inside’

I spent months helping my sister plan her wedding. But on the big day, she said there wasn’t “enough space” for me in the hall and told me to eat in the garage. I was shattered but I didn’t argue. I was done being taken for granted and it was time for a twist no one saw coming.

I’m Ivana. I’m 30, single, own too many cake stands, and have a bad habit of saying yes when I should really stop being everyone’s stepping stone. I’ve always been the helper… showing up early, staying late, and doing it all out of love. But not everyone loved me back. My sister Amanda is one of them. Picture that girl in high school who cried in the hallway until someone offered to carry her books. That girl grew up and became a bride.

When Amanda started planning her wedding, I was there… every step of the way. Venue shopping? Check. Dress fittings? Yep. Hair trial? Guess who held the curling wand and burned her thumb? I also assembled around 130 centerpieces by hand because she didn’t “trust florists.” And when she overspent on the venue, I covered the photographer. The only thing I asked to do myself was the cake. Baking is my thing. I do it part-time for weddings, birthdays, and office parties. I told Amanda it was my gift.

She gave me this fake-sweet smile and said, “Well, if you insist. Just don’t make it too show-offy.” “Girl, it’s buttercream. Not the Olympics,” I replied. She laughed. But I didn’t.

The morning of Amanda’s wedding, I was up before the sun. My apartment smelled like vanilla and sugar as I carefully stacked each tier of the cake into my car. Five layers of lemon-raspberry perfection, with hand-piped lace details that had taken me 12 hours to complete.

I arrived at the venue—a renovated barn with string lights that Amanda had described as “rustic chic but not, like, actually rustic.” And I immediately got to work setting up the cake. My phone buzzed with Amanda’s seventh text of the morning: “WHERE ARE YOU??? Hair emergency!!!” I sighed, made one final adjustment to a sugar flower, and headed to the bridal suite. “Finally!” Amanda exclaimed when I pushed open the door. “My hair is falling flat on the right side.”

I set down my emergency kit—bobby pins, hairspray, makeup, safety pins—and moved behind her. “It looks exactly the same on both sides,” I said, examining her perfectly styled bun. “No, look.” She pointed to a microscopic difference only visible to her. “Fix it.” As I worked, Amanda’s phone rang and her eyes widened at the screen. “It’s Simon. Oh my God, what if he’s backing out?” “Amanda, chill, please! He’s not backing out,” I assured her. After a hushed argument, she hung up and turned to me with those big eyes that had been getting her out of trouble since preschool. “Ivy, I need a favor. The vows…”